


Wake Me Up When the Whiskey Wears Off

by orphan_account



Series: Modern Medicine [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Camping, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Fight Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe I just want to look at you.” Nate said, and his voice was low, rough with emotion. Hancock relaxed under him like a string had been cut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Me Up When the Whiskey Wears Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hokkaido_Ito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokkaido_Ito/gifts).



> As always, for you, Beautiful.

   “C’mon.” Nate said, gritting his teeth against the sharp burn in his side, the knife wound that ached with every step, Hancock’s heavy weight draped against his back. He’d been unconscious for almost a minute, and Nate jiggled his grip on the thigh in his palm, hoping to jostle him awake. Even though, if the walk couldn’t do it-

  
   “Quidit.” Hancock breathed out along his neck and ear. His breath still smelled like the whiskey he’d drank earlier this evening, before all hell broke loose. “I’m sleepin’.”

  
   “No, you aren’t.” Nate said, and Hancock groaned, shifting restlessly in his aching arms. Nate hoisted him like a backpack, patting his butt gently in the process. “Shut up. We’re almost there.”

  
   “Yes, General.” Hancock slurred, but the roughness of his voice was still enough to make blood heat Nate’s cheeks, his mouth turning down irritably. All this stupid shit had been Hancock’s idea anyway, and he should be glad Nate was wasting energy, jiggling his concussed ass awake.

  
   A soft snore near his ear, and Nate shook his own shoulder violently, jostling Hancock’s head until his teeth clicked.

  
   “Damn, Nate, what?” said the other man angrily, and that’s when Nate let go, letting him drop to the ground. Hancock made a soft, hurt sound, as he hit the loamy undergrowth of the Commonwealth’s forest floor. Nate was instantly regretful, one hand reaching down to help him up, but Hancock waved him off. He rolled slowly onto his side, and Nate had asked him if he was hurt anywhere else, before they’d started walking.

  
   He hadn’t asked very nicely.

  
   And damn if he didn’t look good like that though, propped up on one elbow, tri-corner askew, lean-hipped and tired. Nate had loved the fragile beauty Nora had gained when she was tired, late nights while she was at Berkeley, or the joyous morning Shaun had been born. She’d never had the animal grace of Hancock, one that showed a body well used, but Nate wondered if she’d been the one, stranded here in the wasteland, if she’d have managed. Nora had always had her own sort of endless endurance, and god knows the wasteland had changed him.

  
   He stared at Hancock like a stranger, until the ghoul spat at the ground in front of him, making Nate startle, minutely. Hancock didn’t seem to notice.

  
   “Go find something to eat.” He didn’t look at Nate while he spoke, but Nate wasn’t really looking at him either, Hancock still lying where he’d been dropped. “I’ll make camp.”

  
   “You’re gonna make camp?” Nate said incredulously. “But-”

  
   “I said it, didn’t I?” Hancock said explosively, and Nate recoiled, mouth thinning, watching Hancock stare up at him like a wild dog.

  
   “Fine.” Nate said, and then he left him, not even turning around when Hancock shouted ‘FINE!’ after him, like a madman.

  
=

  
   An hour later Nate had found an abandoned clown supply store/robot factory nearby. Luckily, after he hacked first the secretary’s and then the factory foreman’s computers, he found the password to the employee break room, it’s walls stocked high with well-preserved food.

  
   Pork and beans, which would make Hancock happy, even if he’d be miserable company later. Cram, and canned artichoke, something Nate hadn’t seen since before the bomb. He filled his pockets, and the pockets of his bag, but hastily. Hancock was in no condition to fight, neither of them were, they wouldn’t even have split up if they weren’t so fucking stupid together. Nate could feel guilt and worry burning a pit in his stomach no amount of Fancy Lad Snacks could fill, and he hurried out of the factory, glad to be gone.

  
   The camp was dark even as he got closer, and although weighed down with cans as he was Nate picked up speed. His steps were quick and sure over the wasteland floor, sprinting through the near gloom.

  
   As soon as he hit the treeline, he saw him, passed out next to a bottle of whiskey, twigs for a fire laying scattered before him. He was cold to the touch, and Nate threw his pack down, desperately tossing can after can of pork and fucking beans out of the way, until he found it-the stimpak he’d picked off a raider, hastily murdered by some bloodthirsty wastelander then hidden for later scavenging.

  
   Too bad he’d gotten there first.

  
   He popped the cap off, and quickly spread Hancock’s leg, jamming it into his femoral artery, making the man in his arms jump and gasp, his eyes flying open to stare directly into Nate’s.

  
   “Hancock.” Nate said urgently and watched in relief as those deep black eyes focused on his face, before Hancock scowled, looking away.

  
   “I’m fine.” Hancock said, his voice loose and jarred, as though he was waking from a long sleep, and then he gasped, hoarse and wet as Nate yanked the stimpak free, and put pressure with his knee to the injection site.

  
   The position allowed him to stay suspended above the other man, looking down at Hancock’s splayed arms, and bare head, his tri-corner hat fallen somewhere to the ground. Hancock wriggled briefly, but Nate held him down without much resistance. Which meant he’d been hurt pretty badly, and now Nate felt like an ass.

  
   “Don’t move while it takes effect.” It probably already had, but Hancock just lay still, looking up at him. The stimpak had already eased his heartbeat and steadied his nerves.

  
   “I think it worked.” Hancock said drily, moving as though to rise once more, Nate rolled with the motion, adjusting his weight, so the ghoul ended up right back on the ground. Hancock went still slowly, his eyes searching Nate’s face.

  
   “Maybe I just want to look at you.” Nate said, and his voice was low, rough with emotion. Hancock relaxed under him like a string had been cut, and Nate let his knee slide from his thigh, to the natural groove between Hancock’s legs. He wasn’t hard, but he definitely wasn’t uninterested, and Nate ran a flat palm across the broad swell of his chest, before leaning down to kiss him, their tongues tangling hard and fast.

  
   Hancock tasted like blood, and Nate’s mouth was dry, but he was breathing heavily by the time he’d pulled away, and his lips felt swollen from the abrasive nature of kissing his ghoul. Hancock was already un-strapping Nate from the leather holsters, and padded jumpsuit, until his rough hands, weathered to tendons from the radiation, and callused from the constant war that was the wasteland, were stroking his bare skin.

  
   “So smooth.” Hancock breathed, and Nate arched into his touch, letting the jumpsuit slide, baring one shoulder, and one pale, flat nipple for Hancock to pinch. It made Nate hiss, rubbing his body into the man below him, until Hancock laughed, pushing at his side, until he rolled up, let him sit.

  
   “Easy, Pip-boy.” Hancock murmured, and Nate flushed even as he worried at the weariness in Hancock’s voice.”Let me get situated. I just remembered something.”

  
   “Yeah, try your left pocket.” Nate said and Hancock looked at him sharply, before he slipped out a small, tightly wrapped brown paper parcel. It wasn’t always how his Hub-flower buds arrived, but Nate didn’t ask where Hancock got his supply. He made a better General not looking suspiciously at his people in the streets.

  
   Everybody had their secrets.

  
   “You want me to make tea?” Nate asked softly, and Hancock nodded, rubbing the smooth plate of his head, eyes cast down and away. “Lemme go get some water.”

  
   “I have some.” Hancock tossed out, already reaching for his pack. Nate looked at him sharply, where he had begun to re-assemble the scrap Hancock had gathered for a fire.

  
   “You were carrying that all day?” Nate asked, incredulously, as Hancock tossed him two bottles of purified water, courtesy of Codsworth.

  
   “You packed it.” Hancock replied swiftly, looking up at him balefully with those huge eyes. “You always pack the bags.”

  
   “I must not have been thinking.” Nate announced slowly, guiltily, but Hancock just looked away from him, shoulders stiff.

  
   “Well, maybe you’re psychic. I didn’t tell you I had any bud.” And that all in a rush as though Hancock was waiting to be judged.

  
   “I didn’t ask.” Nate said, heating the metal flask by tossing it beside the fire, with the cap loosened. “We weren’t really talking.”

  
   “I know.” said Hancock, and his voice was sharp and dark enough to give Nate pause. The bud was thick and pungent, fresh and aromatic. You could smell Hub-Flower growing on the hills all around Sanctuary, and Nate would sometimes leave their bedroom windows open to let the lush wind breeze in.

  
   “Hope radscorpions don’t attack.” Nate said, and Hancock shrugged.

  
   “That’d be a fucking trip.”

  
   Nate distributed the bud into two coffee filters, adding a clean, weighty pebble to each bag, before twisting it off, and putting one each at the bottom of their tin camping cups, so that it wouldn’t float. Hancock was using his sword to fish the flask from the middle of the fire, where it was spitting steam. Pouring it was harder, but they managed.

  
   The cup was warm in his hand, and he watched the water turn green and oily, before taking a long sip.

  
   It tasted awful, like medicine always did.

  
   Hancock tossed his cup back like water, and sat looking at him, as though waiting while Nate sipped and sipped until he was dizzy, queasy with it and then Hancock reached for him, his motions lazy and jerking as though he couldn’t help himself. Moving, his hand landing on Nate’s thigh, sending sweet vibrations across his skin, until he was half-hard again from one touch.

  
   “Come over here.” Hancock said, and patted his lap. He didn’t look so tired anymore, just watchful, and Nate stood listing slightly from the shallow scrape on his ribs. Hancock tracked his movement with his eyes, deep and dark under night sky, until Nate was practically on top of him.

  
   And then they were kissing, fused together at the mouth, the motion so wanted as to have been begun by both of them, and if Nate tasted like bud, it was fine, because so did Hancock.

  
   Nate didn’t sit on Hancocks lap, as instructed, wary of their recent injuries. Instead he knelt in the dirt beside the fire, easing him back with one hand so Nate could tug at his belt, loosening him from his breeches, and freeing his thick, dark cock to the warm summer air. He was flushed red from the firelight, and scarred from the radiation, but he was also desperately hard. Nate licked his lips, just to watch Hancock’s eyes narrow on his mouth, still wet from kissing. The Hub-flower was making him sweat, his body flushing with want, and when he finally took Hancock into his mouth Nate felt electric, the jolt running from him to Hancock, making the ghoul jump.

  
   It felt like they joined where they touched, and Nate knew it was the Hub-flower, but it was the best he’d ever had. He wasn’t tired anymore, wasn’t sore anymore. He felt weightless but for where Hancock’s hand in his hair anchored him, where his mouth sealed around him. Hancock was gasping weakly underneath him, his hand clutching and mussing Nate’s hair in his grip. It was incentive, to move faster, stay down longer, until Hancock’s hand was a weight on his head, holding him down while he jerked and spurt weakly into Nate’s mouth.

  
   A few moments later, and he was out like a light, curled on his side, snoring up to the sky. Nate sat beside the fire, shaking beans from the dented, scorched can, listening to the geckos hiss and fight, far in the distance.

  
   Four hours til daylight. Might as well wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe you're cold, but you're so warm [inside](honeyedlion.tumblr.com)


End file.
